Page 71 of His Auctioned Duchess
“But you laid hands on her.”
The silence deepened. The onlookers could scarcely breathe.
Richard’s gaze flickered toward Caroline—a fleeting glance that softened nothing but made his next words strike all the harder.
“You dared touch my bride. That, Jasper… I will never forgive.”
Jasper’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, his throat still raw from Richard’s grip. He tried to kneel, tried to plead, but his knees buckled, and he only managed a pitiful half bow. “Please, Richard... I lost my head—I was mad with jealousy–”
“Madness does not absolve evil,” Richard said flatly. “It only reveals it.”
A murmur ran through the crowd.
Caroline took an unsteady step forward, the hem of her gown whispering against the stone. “Richard,” she said softly, “it’s done. He is no threat now.”
Her voice, though trembling, held command—the kind of gentle authority that could soothe a storm. She laid her hand on Richard’s arm, tentative but brave. “Let him go.”
Richard’s muscles twitched beneath her touch. The tension coiled within him refused to fade completely, but at her voice—that steady, defiant voice—he exhaled, long and slow, releasing a measure of the fury that had consumed him.
Without looking at Jasper again, he turned away.
The guests parted before him like waves before a prow, fearful of brushing against the man whose temper had proven every rumor true. The title Devil of the Ton would be whispered anew tonight—and not as metaphor.
He walked toward Caroline instead. She had expected him to stride past, to bury himself in isolation, but instead he stopped before her, every inch of him carved in rigid control.
For a moment, he only looked at her. Her hands were clasped tightly before her, knuckles white against her gloves. Yet she met his gaze with courage that belied the trembling of her frame.
“Caroline,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable.
She swallowed. “You frightened me.”
He nodded once, grimly. “I frightened myself.”
The admission startled her more than the fury had. She could see it now—beneath the duke’s stony facade, beneath the scar and the anger—the weight of years dragged like an anchor. The man before her was not merely dangerous; he was wounded.
Then, before she could react, Richard reached for her.
His hands, still trembling faintly, settled on her shoulders—not roughly this time, but with a strange, desperate gentleness. She gasped as he drew her against him. The embrace was fierce, protective, almost possessive, but not cruel. He bowed his head to her hair, his breath ragged.
“Forgive me,” he said quietly. “You should never have seen that.”
The ton’s collective murmur rose once more—the rustle of silk and curiosity, the sound of fans snapping shut as eager eyes feasted upon the scandal. To them, this moment was theater—the wild duke embracing his bride before the altar, the beast tamed by beauty.
But Caroline felt the truth. His arms were not the arms of triumph; they were those of a man seeking absolution in silence.
Her own hands, which had been pressed stiffly against his chest, softened. She rested one palm against his heart, feeling the violent beat beneath her fingertips. “You stopped,” she whispered. “That is what matters.”
He drew back slightly, enough to meet her gaze. “Only because you called my name.”
Caroline tried to smile, but it trembled. “Then I shall make a habit of it.”
The faintest curve touched his lips—not quite a smile, more the ghost of one. His hand rose, brushing a stray curl fromher temple. The gesture was intimate in a way that made the ton’s whispers swell anew. But neither of them heard the gossip anymore.
For that single fragile instant, there was only the sound of their breathing, the pounding of two hearts too wild to be still.
Then Caroline realized her own pulse was racing not from fear of Jasper, but from the man who held her. The Devil’s darkness still lingered in his eyes—not violence now, but something she could not name. Something that both frightened and fascinated her.
Richard turned at last toward the onlookers, his expression composed once more. “This ceremony is over,” he said, voice carrying effortlessly through the stunned silence. “My cousin will depart Ashwood by morning. Anyone who wishes to discuss what happened here may do so—elsewhere.”
